


Athos' Table

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is mysterious. D'Artagnan finds curiousity to have its consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Athos' Table

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mr. Weekend, my faithful partner a fearless beta reader.
> 
> Written for jax

 

 

In the early days of their acquaintanceship, before the affaire of the Queen's diamond tags, d'Artagnan sought to emulate the manner of his friends Athos, Porthos and Aramis as closely as possible. Though employed by Monsieur des Essarts in His Majesty's Guards through the wily mechanisms of musketeer captain Monsieur de Treville, d'Artagnan's Gascon pride would not be satisfied until he was a musketeer himself. Denied the coveted blue uniform, he strove to imitate their affectations of speech, their devil-may-care attitude towards illegal duelling, and especially in their court manners, of which d'Artagnan himself knew next to nothing.

Athos, especially, he looked up to as a god among men, and soon d'Artagnan developed a greater affection for this Achilles than for either of his other two friends. Superficially, Athos appeared to be no more than a strikingly handsome member of the King's Musketeers. He certainly never dressed the part of a nobleman, despite rumours of an aristocratic background. Nevertheless, Athos could walk into a room in his simple musketeer's uniform, with his indefinable air of distinction, and would eclipse the elaborately-dressed Porthos and the delicately-mannered Aramis at once. Habitually silent, Athos never spoke unless he had something meaningful to say. His integrity, wisdom and coolness in the face of danger had at once won d'Artagnan's respect, friendship, and admiration.

However, Athos had some decidedly un-godlike characteristics about him. When not on duty, he spent his time gambling with other musketeers in the company, and always lost. And yet he never borrowed a penny from his friends, and whenever he gambled on credit he always called early the following morning at the house of the man he owed, bringing the money with him. Because Athos was not a wealthy man and otherwise lived very frugally, this spendthrift behaviour piqued d'Artagnan's interest. Athos also regularly sank into melancholic fits during which he locked himself in his rooms to drink himself into ever lower depths. These fits would strike most often during the warmest, loveliest times of the year, and his three friends would witness the demigod's nightly descents into something less than a man.

Unconcerned that Athos seemed hell bent on doing himself in, the company of musketeers generally supposed that these two behaviours were linked to his distain for the fairer sex. He did not actually stop people mentioning women in his presence, but it was easy to see from his unresponsiveness and from his little sneering comments whenever the subject was brought up that he took no pleasure in conversation of that kind. In this, Athos differed radically from the behaviour of other musketeers in the company, who spent their nights engaged in warfare of the heart. Aramis and Porthos confided in d'Artagnan that they suspected Athos of having had a terribly unhappy love affair, and so was disillusioned for life. Therefore, while Porthos bragged of philandering with foreign princesses and Aramis excused his journeys to fashionable pleasure gardens with stories of meeting priests who commissioned him to write ecclesiastical poetry, Athos simply stayed in his apartment and drank.

One warm night in the late summer of that year, on his way home from guard duty at the Louvre, d'Artagnan emerged from his thoughts to find himself taking an unusual route through an unfashionable, downtrodden area of Paris. Passing an inn, he noted a familiar head of hair through the open window. Athos was seated at a private table in the far corner with a man in a common foot soldier's uniform. Cards were splayed out in front of them and six empty wine bottles against the wall. Judging from his posture, d'Artagnan assessed that Athos had, as usual, imbibed the majority. D'Artagnan had half a mind to call out and join the game, but then noted Athos was not wearing his customary musketeer's coat and therefore evidently did not wish to draw attention to himself.

D'Artagnan's interest was piqued. Athos was no snob and would eat and drink at any establishment suggested, but to choose an inn located so far from the musketeers' headquarters was certainly unusual. Likewise, though Athos was gifted with an innate social tact and dealt well with men from every walk of life, it was odd to find him playing cards with a man below the rank of a corporal. D'Artagnan concluded that Athos had leant money to the soldier, was kindly allowing the man to settle his debt by winning the money back, and did not wish to intimidate the fellow by meeting in a fashionable place or by wearing the impressive musketeer's uniform. Thus satisfied, his friend's integrity no longer in question, d'Artagnan continued on his way home.

But a tweny-year-old's natural inquisitiveness is not so easily laid to rest, especially when presented with so complex a cipher as Athos. Every night thereafter on which Athos did not accompany d'Artagnan to guard duty at the Louvre, d'Artagnan took that same long route back to his rooms, passing beggars and prostitutes on his way. At least once a week, he glimpsed Athos seated at his customary table, back to the window. His companions were never the same twice, and were identifiable by their dress as common soldiers, sailors and poor merchants. On two occasions d'Artagnan recognised Athos' companions as noblemen from court, attempting to conceal their fashionable dress beneath long cloaks that must have been uncomfortable in the heat. Sometimes Athos and his companions played cards, and sometimes they simply drank and talked.

One morning over breakfast, d'Artagnan mentioned to Porthos their friend's latest curious habit. Having lost badly at dice the previous night, the big man was in a foul mood.

"I dare say he's fleecing the pants off those poor wretches in order to pay off his debts to the rest of us," he grumbled, tearing at a pheasant breast. "Who knows where else he finds the money? He certainly won't pawn those precious heirlooms of his." Porthos was referring to a certain bejewelled sword Athos kept bolted over his fireplace and had just refused Porthos the loan of.

Rather than protest his friend's meanness, d'Artagnan nodded noncommittally and changed the subject to Porthos' latest fictional romantic conquest, a foreign duchess who was tiring of her elderly husband. Porthos took to the topic with gusto and promptly regained his morale.

D'Artagnan soon took his leave to hunt down Aramis, who he found writing a letter in a secluded corner of Monsieur de Treville's library. Looking up, Aramis blushed a delicate shell pink and hurriedly folded the letter. Ordinarily, d'Artagnan would have taken this golden opportunity to cross question his friend about the letter's recipient, certainly a cousin in the country or the publisher of Aramis' religious poetry. But d'Artagnan's mind was upset by Porthos' allegation - could their sainted friend be a common cheat? - and cut right to the chase.

Aramis was scandalised at the thought that either d'Artagnan or Porthos would believe Athos capable of such a low trick. As d'Artagnan recounted the whole series of events, however, Aramis' expression changed from surprise to recognition to schooled aloofness. When the story was told, Aramis said a sharp tone, "D'Artagnan, I'm surprised at you. A gentleman's personal affaires are his own; Athos' especially. I urge you not to meddle any more than if a lady's honour was at stake."  
Thus chastened, d'Artagnan politely made his excuses and withdrew. But once he was no longer in his friend's presence, this sage advice had less effect and curiosity continued to gnaw at him once again.

That very night, locating Athos at his private table at the inn once again, d'Artagnan ducked into the meat pie shop across the way. Ignoring the stench of old grease, he found himself a seat where he would be partially obscured from Athos' view by a heavy wooden beam. He observed that his friend was playing cards with a handsome, clean-shaven man, no older than thirty-five, wearing the dusty garb of a bricklayer. As d'Artagnan watched the two converse he noticed that Athos' companion held himself more like a soldier or a nobleman than a common labourer. A sword hilt protruded from under the man's seat, which confirmed d'Artagnan's suspicion.

"Aha!" he cried to himself. "So he brings gentlemen here to resolve disputes. Oh, what a silly ass I am! My boy, you could take a lesson from Athos in gentlemanly behaviour. Rather than trounce them publicly, he's letting them apologize to him in a place where they won't be recognised or humiliated."

But the man did not look at all humbled in his countenance. His eyes met Athos' directly as he spoke. As for Athos, he had stopped drinking and looked at his companion intently. "Now the rascal's properly for it," mused d'Artagnan, who had seen that particular expression on his friend's face once before: upon their first meeting when Athos had challenged him to a duel. "Perhaps I shall volunteer my assistance."

The man leaned in close to Athos' face and said something, apparently of significance. Athos remained motionless for a moment and then nodded slowly. They drained their glasses, rose from their seats, donned their jackets, and exited the inn.  
D'Artagnan took this as his cue. Running out of the meat shop, he cried, "Athos! This man has obviously insulted you. Allow me to be your second; I'll run him through on the first thrust!"  
The man smiled arrogantly at d'Artagnan, placed a hand on his companion's arm, and inquired in a quiet voice, "`Athos'?" Brought up short, d'Artagnan realized the rashness of his error. Obviously the man was on better terms with Athos than he had thought, but was not aware of the pseudonym by which he was known to the rest of Paris. Abashed, he could not make head nor tail of the situation.

Athos said a few words to the man in a low voice, and then walked over to the bewildered Gascon. "D'Artagnan," he murmured in a voice that exuded great disappointment in his young protégée's manners and intelligence, "we will discuss this tomorrow, in my quarters at five o' clock." Not waiting for a reply, Athos turned on his heel. He and his companion walked away, leaving d'Artagnan standing in the middle of the road, gaping openly.

It must be remembered that this was a lax age in which soldiers readily compromised with their consciences, servants stole from their masters' tables, and both husbands and wives often failed to observe the sixth commandment. Therefore, the reader must not judge our hero's actions overly harshly. Though his opinion of his own intellect had been dealt a great blow, shame was no match for the young Gascon's curiosity.

D'Artagnan followed Athos and his companion at a distance as they made their way through narrow alleyways, past the beggars and whores that lined the notorious Quartier Pigalle, to a small, clean-looking rooming house. He watched them enter and waited long minutes for a lamp to be lit, but all the windows remained dark.

Even in the gloom, a light finally dawned. D'Artagnan's face went hot. He made his way home quickly. Though he tried to go to sleep immediately, in an effort to stave off demons of the conscience, he stared at the ceiling until dawn.  
The next afternoon, at five o' clock sharp, d'Artagnan stood outside the door of Athos' small but elegant set of rooms. He was trying to decide on the words to apologize for something he did not know how to mention. Finally, he knocked on the door. The silent Grimaud showed him in.

Athos was sitting at the drawing room table, glass, as ever, in hand. D'Artagnan began to launch into his rehearsed speech, but Athos cut him off with a wave of his hand. "A bottle of wine with you, my friend" he said, pouring two generous glasses. "It's Beaugecy, and a good vintage; it shouldn't go to waste."

Relieved beyond all measuring to still be considered his friend - and especially glad not to duel him a second time -- d'Artagnan bowed low and said, "Athos, I shouldn't blame you if you ran me through this instant! My behaviour last night was wretched. If you like, I shall apologise to the gentleman this very evening."

Meeting his eyes evenly and with a humorous quirk in his mouth, Athos replied, "Well spoken, sir, though I'm sure that won't be necessary. I don't even know the gentleman's real name, though I suspect it. He seemed happy enough when I assured him you were an honourable gentleman who wouldn't go spreading stories. So let us forget him and toast: To our friendship, d'Artagnan! May it never fail!" - and Athos drained the wine in one long draught. He sat silently for a moment staring at his empty glass, lost in thoughts. He had been drinking for a while now, realized d'Artagnan, judging from the empty bottles strewn about the otherwise neat apartment. Feeling that he ought to say something, but not knowing what, he swallowed the full contents of his glass in solidarity.

At last raising his head, Athos refilled both glasses and spoke. "You have not yet had a mistress, have you, young d'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan, intrigued, silently shook his head.

"Keep it that way. Women are an altogether wretched business. You go to the comfort of their arms, thinking them angels, but when you wake, you will find them jezebels. They will all betray you, d'Artagnan, and they turn friend against friend. They leave men with nothing but broken hearts and souls drained of everything good and pure."  
Taking a deep drink, Athos continued. "Even whores cannot happily be turned to for honest physical comfort, for they will cut your throat to steal your purse. A man, on the other hand, is honest in his wants. So I have found that comfort can be found with the sex that is admittedly less intelligent, but also less devious."

The idea had never before occurred to d'Artagnan. Amazed at the turn the conversation was taking, and even more amazed to have heard such admittance from the most mysterious of his three friends, he blurted out, "But why go to strangers? Could you not find such comfort with your friends?"

Realising what he had just said, d'Artagnan turned scarlet and pursed his lips lest against further embarrassing indiscretions. But Athos gave the first genuine laugh d'Artagnan had ever heard pass his lips. He raises his glass and drained it once again.

"My young friend, there are different kinds of comfort that a man needs to stay sane. Your friendship provides me comfort of the head, of the heart, of the soul. I would not sully that for all the Cardinal's riches. I beg you," he whispered as he leaned in close enough for d'Artagnan to smell the wine on his breath, "do not offer me anything else."  
Athos held his eyes for long moments, and then leaned back in his chair to pour himself the last of the wine. D'Artagnan remembered to breathe again and could not remember when he had stopped.

"Today is Tuesday," Athos continued, "and if I remember correctly, on Tuesdays you must report to Monsieur des Essarts by six o' clock for instructions. I could not in good conscience keep you from your duty."

Knowing an authoritative dismissal when he heard one, d'Artagnan rose to his feet. "Athos, I feel I should say..."

"My dear d'Artagnan, don't be an idiot. I don't think badly of you. Kindly cease dogging my footsteps like a common thief, and I shall let the matter drop. I advise you to do so as well."

Athos was no longer looking at him, and so d'Artagnan guiltily took his leave. As he looked behind him on his way out the door, he saw Athos taking a fresh bottle to his lips and draining it as easily as if it was a glass.

 


End file.
